“Thoughts on my Ass! Look at me! I’m doing stuff!”
You’re drumming.
“Well, somebody’s got to.”
Mickey not helping?
“He’s just shaking fries around in a fast food bag and calling it Salty Maracas. I got no idea with that guy any more.”
How about the clogs?
“Not this tour. He’s got tap shoes.”
Mickey’s gonna play tap shoes?
“No, he’s gonna chuck ’em at Bobby when he plays Lost Sailor.”
Makes sense. So what happened last night?
“I stuck it in some skank.”
Besides that.
“Was there a show? I dunno, man, you tell me. I’ve been on auto-pilot for a decade.”
There was a show, but it started to rain 20 minutes into the second set and you guys disappeared.
“Oh, yeah! I remember that.”
The Dead used to play in the rain all the time.
“Here’s the thing, Ass: the entire world’s gone pussy. Everyone you meet these days: biggest fucking pussies on the planet. So it rained a little and all the crying little pussies got scared and cut the power. Punks. Dead used to play through riots. I mean, we caused ’em all but still: show must go on and all that.”
Uh-huh. Couldn’t one of you at least have gone back out onstage and made an announcement?
“Here’s the other thing: it turns out we played long enough to get paid.”
So?
“So…fuck ’em.”
You’re the heart and soul of the operation, Billy.
“Yeah, I’m the tits, too.”
He can skank if he wants too
He can leave those skanks behind
And if he don’t skank
he can wank
and then he’s a Friend of Mine